


A Big Happy Family

by Doceo_Percepto



Series: Bendy's Murderous Adventure Across Moominvalley [28]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: AU like hella, Black Humor, Burning to death, Child Murder, Child Torture, Incest, Incest like hella, Infanticide, Insanity, Necrophilia, Other, Pedophilia, Rape, Snufkin rape, The names of the kids are worse than the names of the parents, This is sick, a careless disregard of morality, callous treatment of pregnancy and abortion, child rape, dead dove do not eat, eating children alive, golly gee where do I begin, literally all these characters are goddamn terrible parents, more child death, now with abomination children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 09:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17805155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/pseuds/Doceo_Percepto
Summary: Your papa has gotten you pregnant with a litter of kitties. Bendy and you are not pleased, but you try to be happy for your papa's sake.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly a goddamn nightmare and please avoid if you are squicked by literally anything. I tried to tag it but you can only go so far with tags. 
> 
> The patty-cake scene is inspired directly from Sp00py's fic Mama Foxter's Week of Wonders because I am an Idea Thief. 
> 
> Also idk how pregnancy or childbirth work but - I figure in the Moomin world, pregnancies are pretty quick and easy, and childbirth is not so terrible. Also that children just sort of pop out as miniature versions of what they're going to grow up into. Canon seems to reasonable support these conjectures.
> 
> This is also hella AU to the rest of this series because I normally imagine that Happy is not capable of bearing children.

You’re sick a lot. On a regular basis, you’re exhausted, woozy, and nauseous, probably because Snufkins have general poor constitution and no intelligence, which your papa tells you can lead to poor health. You’re also prone to bouts that Bendy calls your ‘sillies,’ which is when you seize on the ground, laughing and crying at once. It’s a very bizarre sort of thing that you can’t much control, but it amuses Bendy - sometimes he laughs with you; sometimes he holds you down so the Joxter can give you the appropriate treatment, which is of course sex. Sex is the cure for a _lot_ of illness you get, like Night Terrors and Anxiety Attacks. It’s more effective when it hurts more, which you think is good because it always hurts when the Joxter penetrates you. 

Because of your constant sickness and inconveniences, you hardly think anything of the fact you spend three mornings in early spring vomiting, even though you hadn’t eaten much (or anything, in one case). You’re only upset for being such a handful, especially since on this last morning, your papa was disgusted with you for your behavior. 

“Dear, I don’t want to have to wash vomit off my dick,” he explains to you lovingly. “But I want to use your mouth. Why must you be this way?”

You cry, because you’re so inconvenient. You tell him you will try to do better. 

“You’re not coming down with something, are you?” He asks. 

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry papa…”

“Oh, it’s okay.” He ruffles your hair. “Your cunt is perfectly acceptable, I suppose.” He lays you back very gently in the canoe, and pets you very softly even though you don’t deserve it for being so hideous. He shoves into you, and it hurts worse than usual, as if you’re all swollen and tender. Sometimes you are. 

The next few days, you don’t vomit in the mornings at all, only feel faint nausea, and you’re happy when your papa uses your mouth. It seems sex cured you. You think nothing of it, for many days and nights. 

Then, as you’re laying cuddled next to the Joxter in the canoe, and he’s drifting his calloused hands over your scarred skin, he remarks softly, “why, you’ve gotten round around the middle, Happy.”

Bendy cackles, kicking his feet over the canoe’s edge. “He’s fat! Just say it like it is, Jox.”

Your papa hums, a deep furrow in his brow. “You had noticed too?”

“Sure. We were playin’ tag before, an’ it’s pretty easy t’notice he’s not such a beanpole when I tackled him.”

Your papa looks at you, deep and thoughtfully, long enough for you to giggle and look away nervously, heart hammering. You wonder if he plans on hurting you for being fat. 

“Are you sneaking snacks, love?” He asks. 

You shake your head, horrified. You’d never!

“Are you feeding him more?” Your papa directs to Bendy. 

The devil tilts his head to the side. “I dunno. Don’t think I fed him yesterday?”

“Huuum.” The Joxter’s fingers drift to your stomach, sliding under your shirt to stroke your bare skin. 

“Am I feedin’ him too much?” Bendy asks worriedly. 

“No, I think not,” the Joxter replies. “I think you ought to give him more.”

“More?” Bendy crosses his arms. “Why more if he’s already a whale!”

“Now that’s an exaggeration,” the Joxter chides, while you hug your chest and giggle nervously. “He’s only a little bigger. Trust me, Bendy, this is one of those strange Mumrik things.”

Bendy makes an effort to feed you more. At first, you throw most of it up, and Bendy complains that you surely don’t need so much if you can’t even keep it down. The Joxter explains that Snufkin bodies that have been starved often can’t take a lot of food all the sudden, and Bendy mutters that you’re impractical and stupid while he shoves mushrooms in your mouth.

A week or so later, the Joxter slips a hand under your shirt again, and feels your belly. A small smile spreads across his lips. That evening, he tells Bendy,

“Take things easier on Happy, darling. Just for a time.”

Bendy abruptly stops chewing on his favorite pan, a sour look on his face. “Why? I _already_ gotta be gentle, ‘cause he’s so fragile!”

You hug your knees to your chest, feeling inconvenient. You wish that the demon could do whatever he wanted to you without restraint. 

“Because Happy is pregnant,” the Joxter declares. 

You blink. You’re really bad at processing shock, you know this - Snufkins are too dumb to properly process events and situations. So instead you laugh. It can’t be true. You can’t be pregnant. Why would he say that?

“Pregnant?” Bendy curls his tail around himself, frowning. “Is that another made-up thing like sickness?”

“No, no, it’s very real. Pregnancy is the means by which new Snufkins come into this world to be hurt and loved.”

No. No _you can’t be pregnant._

Bendy tilts his head to the side. “And… Happy does pregnancy?” 

“Well, many Snufkins can. It’s a bit rarer, I will admit - Mymbles are much more prone to pregnancy. But it seems Happy here is equipped with what he needs.” Your papa purrs, and leans close to you, as you quietly hyperventilate. “He’ll have beautiful kitties… gifted by me, and brought into this world by him. It’s lovely, Bendy. I had a son, once, but lost him. Perhaps this time I’ll have more luck.”

“I-I don’t wanna be pregnant,” you chirp pointlessly. 

“Aw.” The Joxter caresses your cheek. “This is what nature has decided for you, dear. You’d best accept it.”

“I’m sorry,” interjected Bendy flatly, “But _what?_ Happy’s going to - to make cats? Is he a machine? _”_

“If it makes sense to think of him that way,” your papa says. “Though they won’t be cats: they will be little Snufkins, which are called kitties.” Then, after a moment of thought, “or at least I always called them that.”

“I don’t want kitties,” you mutter hoarsely. At first you thought the Joxter couldn't possibly be right - the thought of child-bearing and you just didn’t mix at all. You didn’t want kids. You don’t want to look after them; you don’t want to give birth to them; you don’t want anything to do with them! But now he’s speaking like it’s a fact, and you swear you can feel little creatures swimming around in your belly, kicking and shoving and demanding out. 

You wrap your arms around your stomach, queasy.

“Think of it like this,” the Joxter says, leaning close. “You’re going to bring me a whole collection of sons to enjoy.”

“I want to be your son. Your only son.” You look to Bendy desperately for support. “Bendy, I’m enough, aren’t I? I’m a good enough son?”

Bendy shrugs. “Yeah, Jox, I dunno if we need tiny Snufkins. I like Happy well enough on his own. If we ever need any more Snufkins, we can just go huntin’ for some. Way better sport than just producin’ our own.”

“Well, it’s too late at this point; the kitties are already in there.” 

“Do they have to be?”

The Joxter looked offended. “Of course, Bendy. It’s impolite to suggest killing my own offspring, before they have a chance to be welcomed into the world by their father.”

“I’m just suggestin’ we terminate the whole machine’s process ‘fore it gets to the whole kid stage,” Bendy mutters. 

You begin to cry, and the Joxter turns his attention to you. “There, there,” he says. “I’ll make sure you carry them to term, never fear, love.”

That isn’t the problem, but there’s no point in saying the problem. You’re being selfish and rude. He put his seed in you, and it made life. The least you can do is bear that life until it’s ready to be part of the world, and then you can gift that life to him, however he wants it. He cradles you while you cry.

 

 

 

A few days later has you sitting next to Bendy, knotting together flowers to put into a new flower crown, and the idea strikes you to make a flower crown for your kitties. You don’t know how many you will have. You don’t have very much knowledge about pregnancy - in fact, you don’t know how you know about it at all. Someone must have told you, in a past life you only vaguely remember. 

You were _something_ before you became your papa and Bendy’s pet, but you remember so little of that time (something tells you it’s better not to remember). It must have been an awful time.

Normally you make flower crowns only for yourself, Bendy, or your papa, though, so you’re not sure about making them for anyone else. 

“Bendy,” you start softly, “is it okay if I make flower crowns for the kitties?”

He looks at you sharply. “All right, it was funny at first, Happy, but it ain’t funny anymore.”

You blink. You’ve upset him somehow. You’re awful for doing that. “I’m so sorry,” you plead. “I won’t. I’ll just make some for you, okay? As many as you like.”

“Just one is nice,” he says, looking happier. “But put a lot of flowers in it!” 

You nod eagerly and set to the task, kitties forgotten. 

 

 

 

Your belly keeps getting bigger and bigger; your papa is enthusiastic about the change, often talking about the sons he will have, while you keep feeling uneasier about it. Bendy mostly ignores it, but he looks at you like he’s not quite sure what to make of you. He does go gentler on you, and for the first time in years, your body gets no new injuries, scratches, bites, or scars. You hate the kitties even more now, because Bendy’s frequent care to you had meant something really meaningful. You’d been useful to him, and now - now you feel ugly and wrong and useless. Bendy doesn’t love you as much any more, you fear. You’re eager for them to be _out._  

Then one day you collapse just outside of the canoe, eyes round. Something is _moving._ The kitties want out. 

“Happy?” The Joxter calls. “Is everything all right, dear? You look awfully pale.” He looks like he might know.

“I-…” You very abruptly are overcome with the thought _I don’t want to do this._ You don’t want any part of this. You don’t want to be pregnant, or to have kitties - 

But you're far past that point. 

Another wave of agony washes over you, and you gasp. “Papa. Papa, it hurts-“

“Ah, dear.”

“I didn’t even do anything this time,” Bendy says loudly. 

“No, of course - Happy’s giving birth.”

“Givin’ birth? Who’s he givin’ it to?”

The Joxter scuttles close to you and squeezes your shoulder. “It’s a phrase, Bendy. He’s delivering his kitties.”

“He’s - what- _what_?”

The Joxter collects an array of objects - sun-warmed and washed cloths from dead Snufkins, a bucket of water from the river, while Bendy watches everything with a look of absolute confusion.

“I-I kinda thought you were kiddin’-“ Bendy says nervously while the pain mounts.  

“No, I was trying to tell you - oh, here comes the first! Do push, Happy, you can’t just sit there whining, don’t you know anything?” 

Bendy screams, which is something you've never heard before, and it makes you scream in surprise too.

“A little alien is crawlin’ outta Happy!” Bendy yowls, clutching his horns. 

“I’m sorry!” You cry out, in tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to-“

“They’re kitties, darling, please stay calm.”

“Oh my God, it’s disgusting, is it gonna kill him? Jox, you _know_ I wanted to be the one t’kill him!” 

“No, he’s not going to - ah, how beautiful!” 

You don’t feel any attachment to this ugly bloody thing that has just emerged from you. It disgusts you to look at. 

“Wonderful!” The Joxter crows. 

“It’s hideous,” Bendy says.

“I don’t like it,” you whimper. You don’t like it at all, but your belly clenches and you think there’s another one coming. 

“You don’ have to like it,” The Joxter tells you, as he scoops up the ugly creature and begins to towel it down.

You groan, and the process begins again.

 

 

 

 

When it’s all said and done, there are six little kitties tumbling over each other, like Snufkins only miniature size, perhaps six inches tall and fumbling on tiny fragile legs. They all have tufts of hair on their head, except one who is absolutely bald. Some of their hair is dark like yours, some light like your papa’s. 

You’re exhausted, and unhappy, and cry for no particular reason. It feels weird to look at them. To imagine they came from you. You don’t feel any affiliation to them whatsoever; you wish they weren’t yours. 

“What shall you name them?” The Joxter inquires, wiggling his finger in front of one’s face - it giggles and tries to catch his finger.

“I-I don’t wanna name them,” you whine. You’re being troublesome, you know, but you’re still in a lot of pain, and feel all wrong about these things.

“Oh, but you must,” the Joxter says. “That’s how it goes.”

Bendy slinks closer to you. He still looks uncertain about the kitties, too, and you’re glad someone else shares your uneasy. Gratefully you settle your hands on his back when he curls up in your lap; he begins to lick your thighs where the blood’s stained you. “Name ‘em after flowers?” He suggests, muffled by your flesh. 

“You do love flowers,” the Joxter agrees. 

You do. You sniffle pitifully and look at the kitties again. The more you look at them, the more you see little differences - one of them even looks like a little you, with a similar face shape, the same dark dark eyes, and dark hair. He’s already toddling away from the rest, and clambering up onto the campfire rocks. 

“No no,” your papa chides, depositing him back with the others.

“I guess that one can be Orchid,” you say mopily. 

“Orchid. A beautiful name,” the Joxter purrs. “To go with a beautiful face.” He tugs his glove off one hand, and caresses the backs of his fingers over Orchid’s cheek. “So soft.”

“Still got five of em,” Bendy adds grumpily. You feel bad, because it seems like the demon isn’t pleased about the additions to the nest. You shouldn't have gotten pregnant - you don’t like them, either. At least your papa does… Rubbing between Bendy’s horns, you do your best to perk up. Your papa wants you to name them, so you must. 

“That one can be Tulip,” you say, pointing to the bald one with dark eye. 

One of them is toddling nearer to you, tiny fingers grabby and a giggle emerging from his throat. He’s got the thickest patch of hair, all dark like yours. “And um, Daisy,” you say, pointing. 

Daisy stops by your side so sharply that he nearly tumbles into your lap on top of Bendy - the demon hisses and goes tense.  

“Can you say mama?” The Joxter prompts with delight. “That’s your mama, Daisy.”  

“Aaam,” Daisy utters wetly. 

Your skin flinches. It’s drooling slightly, and smiling up at you. 

“What is it doin’?” Bendy mutters, curling his tail closer to his body. 

“Mma,” Daisy says, and then his chubby fingers wrap around Bendy’s tail. 

“Oh, no, no-“ your papa interjects, but too late - Daisy yanks. 

Bendy whips around in a flash, and then there’s _teeth_ and a gaping maw and - blood sprays. Some splatters hot on your cheek. It takes two furious crunching gulps before there isn’t a Daisy anymore. You laugh hoarsely. 

“Oh dear,” the Joxter says. 

Bendy licks his lips and settles back in your lap, tucking his tail safely under his body. “They _are_ snack sized,” he remarks sharply. 

“Indeed, I suppose you can’t be blamed. But please don’t eat the rest of them.”

“That one can be Daisy, then,” you point at one that’s gone and fallen asleep. 

“Daisy, Orchid, and Tulip.” Your papa has pulled Tulip into his lap. 

“Daffodil,” you decide, pointing. “And uh, Violet.” There. You named them all. 

“Parenting is very exciting,” The Joxter says, caressing Tulip, who is blowing little bubbles. “It has been a long time since I had a child so young, but I do remember it being very lovely.”

“They seem like a pain,” Bendy mutters, watching Orchid flop into the fire pit and dig his little hands in the charcoal.

“No, no, dear,” The Joxter sighs again, scooping Orchid out while holding wriggling Tulip under his other arm. “Such an adventurous lot.”

“I still think we should’a turned off this whole kid-makin’ process before we ended up with a thousand of em,” Bendy added.

“Now, now, it’s only six - oh, well, five now - only five kittens. We’ll manage just fine. You feed children like you feed Happy, I’m sure - just some food and watering, and they’ll do wonderful. Don’t you just love this one?” The Joxter snuggled his cheek against Orchid’s. 

“He does look like Happy,” Bendy admittedly. “But boy, it’s a little freaky seein’ somethin’ smaller than me.”

“Darling, everything is smaller than you.”

“Not in this form! I’m used t’being the smallest.”

“You’ll manage.”

Bendy grumbled, resuming cleaning your thighs with his tongue. 

You doze off with the feeling of his bifurcating tongue lapping between your legs.

 

 

You wake up later, exhausted, to find that your papa has started a campfire, and he’s sitting with Tulip, roasting a fish. 

“Bendy caught us some food,” he informs you. 

Bendy holds up another uncooked fish, flopping its tail this way and that. “Anythin’ t’get away from these nightmares, Happy. Ya ain’t allowed to get pregnancy again, you got it?”

“Pregnant,” the Joxter corrects. 

“I’m sorry.” You feel miserable. The nest is overrun by the five kitties, who all seem extremely inquisitive, grabbing various things with their hands, investigating the packs, and so on. Bendy looks very irritated.

“Now, it’s okay,” the Joxter says. “They really are quite sweet.” He tilts up Tulip’s chin and kisses the kitty on his lips lightly. “It drives a mumrik to distraction, for sure.” A hand slips between Tulip’s thighs and toys with the protrusion there - none of them wear clothes, which undoubtedly makes it more intriguing for your papa. You feel a furl of jealous and tuck your chin on your knees angrily. _You’re_ supposed to be always available. 

Tulip begins to cry. You hate that noise, too. They’re fussy and obnoxious. 

Bendy hisses. “Shut it up, Jox.” 

The Joxter sighs. “I would like to,” he says, caressing, “I just can’t remember how one does such a thing-“

As he speaks, Orchid totters up onto the rocks around the campfire.

“Oh, get him off there,” the Joxter sighs, lifting his head. “He just loves the fire for some rea- oh.”

Orchid overbalances and falls into the fire pit. Flames lick around his little body, consuming, eating. Bendy laughs; you laugh. 

“They’re born with no sense,” the Joxter says, while Tulip detangles himself and runs across the nest. “No sense at all.”

Orchid screams and flails, but the fire loves him, too. You clutch your stomach, laughing harder and harder. It takes way longer for a person, even such a small person, to burn to death - much longer than you ever could have imagined. But finally Orchid isn’t screaming anymore, and then he isn’t moving anymore, either. The smell is atrocious. It burns the inside of your nose and sticks there, making you delusionally believe you’ll never get it out. 

Just as fast as you started laughing, you start crying, and you rock in place anxiously. Bendy’s still laughing. 

“I liked that one,” your papa says sadly. “He looked so much like you, Happy.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp. “I’m sorry, papa, I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I will make due with Violet.” On cue, he seizes Violet’s ankle, dragging him over. “I like this one as well.” This is his simple conclusion before he forces apart Violet’s legs. “They are so dreadfully small, though,” he adds mournfully, as he inserts himself and Violet begins to scream and thrash. 

“Shush, love,” the Joxter croons. In the corner of your eyes you see him close his hand around Violet’s mouth to stifle the screaming. Your eyes are glued to the fire and the charred lump that was Orchid.

Bendy cackles. “Smaller’n me and I betcha they don’t stretch so much.” 

“It is a little painful,” the Joxter confesses. “Ah, oh dear. He’s bleeding already.”

“Does the blood make it any easier?”

“I only wish, but it does seem so. Awful, isn’t it?”

“When do they get bigger?” 

“I’m hoping he will loosen a little now,” the Joxter says, and rolls his hips. “Perhaps it’s too much to hope for, but patience can be difficult, with those pretty eyes.”

“I could make more room,” Bendy sniggers. 

“You’ll kill him, Bendy.”

“Eh, he’d live for a bit-“

“Hmm.” The Joxter contemplates it for a second. “Well, it is only one. We still have four left after this one. Do make him more accommodating, won’t you?”

He slides out and steps aside, while Bendy takes his place. You don’t actually see what happens - you see Bendy raise his hand, and two fingers turn to inky-black claws, long and lethal. Then he lowers his hand between the kitty’s legs, and you miss the rest, but it’s impossible to miss Violet screaming. The kitties scream so much already, you've found, and you clap your palms over your ears angrily. It’s worse now, hitting new pitches.  

“There ya go,” Bendy steps aside, tail waving happily. “Should be all ready for ya.”

The Joxter croons. “Lovely. Just beautiful-“ as he eases in this time, he purrs. He hunches over Violet like some primal cat himself, whiskers twitching and soft moans coming from his lips. He covers Violet’s mouth again. “Thank you, Bendy.”

“Always happy t’help.” 

“Bendy,” you say softly, pleading. It can be dangerous to ask things directly of him - better to gently suggest, but you don’t even have the words for that. You don’t even know if you really want the thing you're thinking about, but there is a funny feeling in your chest, like you want to break down and stop existing. Everything is so overwhelming, all the sudden, even though you aren’t sure why. 

He lifts his head to you. “Eh, Happy?”

You swallow your fear and spread your legs. “D-do you-“

“What a slut,” Bendy cackles. 

“He is a whore, dear,” the Joxter huffs. “May as well use him, if he’s in need of it.”

“I got ya covered, Happy. Boy, I’m takin’ care of everyone today, aren’t I?” With that, Bendy transforms to his enormous four legged self and crouches over you, tail swishing. Your heart leaps in your chest and you have a second to be terrified for your life, before he grabs your thighs and forces you down on his dick. You writhe in agony, tears springing to your eyes. This is good, you tell yourself. Your whimpers and moans mix with your papa’s, mix with multiple wet slapping sounds. 

Something touches your side; you jump. Oh. It’s one of the kitties. “Go away, Tulip,” you mutter, shoving him away (your stomach flares with pain as Bendy pushes in deeper).

“That’s Daisy,” the Joxter informs you, glancing over. 

You don’t care. You hate them. You want them gone.

 

 

 

Eventually Bendy digs Orchid’s body out of the fire and eats it, because your papa complains about the smell. Violet doesn’t move after your papa uses him; there’s blood spattered across his entire front, and although he’s breathing, it’s weak and shallow. At some point he stops breathing, but Bendy leaves him alone. He gets cold by evening: when you prod his body, it’s stiff and feels unreal.

Feeling ill, you settle into bed on your patch of dirt with Bendy, wrapping around him like a blanket while he curls up tiny and sweet. You’re glad to be alone with him, just a bit, when Daffodil wanders up on unsteady legs. 

“Maa,” he says. 

Hatred furls in your chest and you curl tighter around Bendy. “I hate them,” you mutter. 

Tulip and Daisy at least are curled with the Joxter in his canoe. Why couldn't he have taken Daffodil too? This one has real pale eyes, paler even than your papa. 

“Maa,” Daffodil lays a fat hand on your wrist, scooting nearer. A tiny foot nudges Bendy’s side; the demon emits a low growl. 

“Go away,” you snap at the kitty. “I don’t want you. I just want my papa and Bendy.”

Daffodil doesn’t leave. Your rage climbs - which is surprising, because you’re almost never _angry_ , but suddenly, you really, really are. You've had an awful day, and you hate these things and you just want things back to the way they were before - all of it accumulates, and before Daffodil has a chance to annoy Bendy any more, your fingers are wrapping around the kitty’s throat. 

You strangle it until it stops moving, and slumps.

“He’s in our bed area,” Bendy whines.

You take the body by the ankle and drag it over near Violet’s body, which is beginning to look unnaturally pale and bloated. You return and curl around Bendy, huffing. 

“G’night,” Bendy says, nuzzling into your chest. 

“I love you.”

  

 

 

In the middle of the night, you’re wrenched awake by high-pitching crying. It rakes down your spine like nails and you’re immediately trembling in frustration and rage. No. You’re done with these kitties; you hate them, you-

There’s a very wet, very sharp sound that ends in a thud. 

“Oh dear,” your papa says. You lift your head. In the half-light of the mood, you see something glinting. “I really didn’t mean to,” the Joxter says. “Alas. I was in the middle of the loveliest dream, and he surprised me, is all.”

Oh. The second Daisy has a knife going straight through his chest and jutting out his back. He’s gurgling blood in the nest. 

“What a mess,” your papa sighs. He pushes Daisy and the knife out of the nest and then curls around Tulip, who has also begun to cry softly. You doze off. 

 

 

 

When you wake again, morning light is filtering through the branches. Bendy’s sitting by the embers of the fire, whistles some sort of up-beat song - he’s got a great number of those memorized, and you’re happy to hear he’s feeling better. Your papa, meanwhile, is crouched in the spot where you had placed Violet and Daisy. He’s rutting, and huffing, and moaning. 

“They really ah - aren’t terrible - hh, even cold,” he tells Bendy. 

Bendy whistles the last few notes, then laughs good-naturedly, “It’s only ‘cause you’re gettin’ used to cold temperatures, screwin’ me an’ all.”

You look about, not at first seeing Tulip, and hoping quietly that something else happened to him in the night. No such luck. You find the kitty with its ankle tied to a tree.

The Joxter’s hips jolt one final time and he moans as he climaxes. Pulling away from Violet’s limp and cold body, he tosses a look towards you. “Ah, yes, he kept wandering off,” the Joxter says, “so I felt it was best to tie him up.”

“Parenting is easier when ya tie up yer kids,” Bendy adds. “Really ain’t so bad now, honestly. And ‘cause we got fewer of ‘em.”

  
You’re happier too, because the Joxter chooses to use you midday, and Bendy feeds you and gives you attention. By evening you get jealous, because Bendy decides to play patty cake with Tilup, hitting him whenever he gets it wrong, but you go and curl up on the ground and cry quietly so as not to bother him. Later the Joxter kisses all of Tulip’s injuries, and then he kisses Tulip a whole lot, and you feel grumpy. Why does Tulip get all the attention?

You spread your legs again, and Bendy screws you - the pain from that thankfully washes away your ability to think anymore about your jealousy, at least for a time. 

 

 

 

The next morning, you wake to find Tulip, still tied to the tree, is not breathing. He’s cold, too. 

“Ah, right. You are supposed to feed them with some regularity, aren’t you?” Your papa sighs. 

“So needy,” Bendy complains. “They need t’be fed even more’n Happy, an’ that’s a lot.”

“A real shame.”

You, for one, are glad. 

“Well,” the Joxter says. “They were quite fun while they lasted. Let me enjoy Violet one more time, darling, and you can clean up the rest, yes?”

Bendy nods enthusiastically. The Joxter lifts his cloak and settles upon Violet, while Bendy rips Tulip’s body free from the knot - oh wait, no. The knot stayed firm. Tulip’s ankle did not, snapping and twisting until it ripped off entirely. 

Curling up like a cat, Bendy began to gnaw on the lifeless kitty’s skull, while the Joxter ruts over Violet. 

“He really is beginning to smell,” the Joxter huffs. 

You decide to make a flower crown. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answering the natural question arising after the first chapter - what would happen if the kitties were Happy and Bendy's?

You weren’t really ready for any kitties, but part of you had sort of prepared to see Snufkin and Joxter kitties. _Mumrik_ kitties. The sort of kitties that were born all the time in this world. 

Laying on your back, panting and sweating after giving birth, you expect your papa to be enthusiastic about the kitties, fawning all over them and cooing about how he loves them. It’s the only meager reason you remotely wanted to bear these children in the first place - to make your papa happy. 

But he’s deathly silent. Unnatural, stunned silent.

“Oh,” Bendy says.

  
_Oh_? Oh what?

There are some scuffling noises between your legs: squealing, wet licking, wrestling. 

“I think somethin’ went wrong.”

“Oh my.”

“Should - should we put ‘em back in?”

_What?_ You sit up, and look at what you've created. Your stomach turns. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeaaah.”

“I didn’t think you were um-“ the Joxter starts. “Didn’t think you could - I mean - were capable of, um-“

“Boy, if I knew, I wouldn’t’ve-“

They are definitely _not_ the Joxter’s. They’re slick in a viscous bath of blood and ink, tumbling over each other like a bundle of spiders, ink-black and horned. Numerous forked tongues lap at the sticky pool they cooked in. At first, you think each one is made of ink, until all the lapping and licking reveals a few have flesh and hair and in some places, exposed bone white and raw. 

“Hum,” the Joxter says.

“Aw, that one’s got spikes down his back-“ Bendy comments, pointing.

“I think those are teeth, darling.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah, you’re right.”

“This one’s got a tail-“

“But look at his eyes, oh dear-“

“They’re just a lil melty.”

“Sort of like jelly, yes. Oh my, it just - it fell right out-“

“Oops.”

You slowly creep backwards, keeping your legs as far spread apart as you can, because you don’t want to touch these things, not even the lightest brush. You want them far, far away from you. 

“Aw, he ate his eye, how cute-“

You tuck your hands close to your chest and stare in disgust at the critters. There’s too many eyes, lots of tangling limbs as the creatures wrestle and tumble. Even as you watch, one of them latches its fanged maw onto another and gouges out a bite - then there’s yelping, flailing, and more blood. A handful dive in and join the fray, until the attacked kitty is nothing but lumps of flesh and ink and blood. 

“Hrm,” the Joxter says.

“One less t’name.”

“I-I don’t want them,” you finally speak. 

“Nonsense,” the Joxter waves his hands dismissively. “I’m sure they’ll be perfectly civilized with time. Just need a little guidance. Here, why don’t you hold one, Happy, get acquainted-“ he reaches into the mess of kitties, but one surges out to meet his hand with teeth and a growl.

“YOW!” The Joxter squawks, yanking his arm back. The kitty is flung halfway across the clearing; its little body strikes a tree and splatters into a black stain. 

For half a moment, you think it died, but no - it oozes down the tree trunk, reaches the ground, and bounces right back up, reformed. It’s of vague Snufkin shape, but its grin full of jagged teeth could split its face in half. Its hair is hideously slicked down with ink, and its eyes are far too real and Snufkin-ish for the ink that composes its body. It’s giggling maniacally. Immediately it leaps on a stick on the ground and begins chewing. Crunching bites make quick work of the stick. 

“Ya okay, Jox?” Bendy asks.

“They’re a feisty bunch,” the Joxter mutters, nursing his bleeding hand. 

“Guess I ought’a name ‘em, though. Get ‘em sorted somehow.” Bendy points at the stick-chewing one. “He can be Chair.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Chair.”

“ _Chair_?”

“Sure. I’m goin’ with names of things in the studio, and we got a _lotta_ chairs.”

“Bendy, that’s an atrocious name. Surely you could name it something better-?”

“Nope. Let’s see, now we got-“ 

“Papa-“ you interject, “papa-“ 

“Hm?”

You gesture nervously - there’s one kitty near the Joxter that’s flicking out a bifurcated tongue like a snake, pie-cut eyes latched onto the Joxter’s bleeding hand. 

“Bendy-“ the Joxter starts cautiously.

The kitty leaps at the Joxter - mid-air, Bendy tackles it and wrestles the squirming yowling creature into submission in his arms. 

“Sorry,” Bendy growls. “Geez, they’re vicious.”

“Can’t imagine where they got that from.”

“Me neither!” Bendy grinds his hand between the kitty’s horns to try to keep it contained. “I mean, yeesh, they’re uncontrollable!”

“I do have some doubts about making love to them,” the Joxter confessed. “You don’t think they have teeth in their nether regions, do you?”

“Honestly, Jox, I’m gonna say it’s more likely than not.”

One of them is padding nearer to you. You tense, scoot back, but it toddles after inquisitively. This one is _mostly_ Snufkin at least - he’s got black hair like yours, and a round face, flesh instead of ink. He’s paler than you’ve seen any Snufkin before, and his eyes are black, but apart from that he’s… well, not horned and made of ink. There’s no stark white bone showing on him, either.

“Bendy,” you yelp, “Papa, Bendy-“

“Well, that one looks all right,” your papa says thoughtfully. 

You squeak, terrified, as it crawls up on your belly and grips your shirt with colorless little fingers. 

“He can be Paper, ‘cause he’s so pale,” Bendy decides. 

“Can we not have Bendy naming them all?” The Joxter asks. 

“Shush, I’m the dad, I get to name ‘em!” Bendy squeezes the one in his arms, which perhaps resembles him mostly closely, apart from its additional fingers and black hands. “This guy’s gonna be Inkwell.”

“Well, that’s not _as_ horrible of a name.”

“Thanks!”

Paper curls up against your chest, purring softly. You don’t know what you're supposed to do with children, least of all this creepy amalgamation of Bendy and you. Reading your confusion, the Joxter suggests, “pet him, love. Cuddle him or some such. Kitties love attention.”

You get the sense that the Joxter wants you to pet Paper in order to make sure the kitty isn’t going to bite someone important’s hand off. But this is what your papa wants you to do, and you should always do whatever he or Bendy wants, so you lift one trembling hand and stroke it down the kitty’s body. It’s disgusting. There’s still tendrils of blood and ink on him, that the others didn’t quite manage to lick off. He’s also oddly soft in a way that makes you think if you pressed hard enough, your fingers might just slip right under his skin. The thought makes you shudder. Paper begins to murmur contentedly. 

“Ah, lovely,” the Joxter looks delighted. “At least one of them is fairly normal, then.”

“Hey,” Bendy gripes, attempting to scoop another into his arms, “they’re all _normal_ , Jox.”

“No, darling, these are very much not normal.”

Chair gets bored of chewing through sticks and scuttles over to the canoe, easily burying his teeth in the wood. 

“Can’t you stop him?” The Joxter asks, pained.

“I’m gonna name this one Projector,” Bendy announces. He now has two kitties wrangled in his arms: Inkwell, who is growling and squirming, and Projector, evidently, who looks like a Snufkin but with protruding horns made of bone jutting from his head. His eyes are the ones that had earlier melted, and now he has empty sockets. This doesn’t seem to be bothering him greatly, as he’s kicking little clawed paws, fwipping his tail, and giggling uncontrollably. 

“Bendy, Chair, please-“

“Right, right, I gotcha-“ towing Inkwell and Projector, Bendy trundles over and wraps his tail around Chair’s arm. “C’mon you-“ 

“Bendy, perhaps we ought to - um, well, cull the herd so to speak,” the Joxter suggests. “This is an awful lot of abominations to take care of.”

“Pfff, what are ya talkin’ about, Jox? I mean, sure, I had my doubts when I first saw ‘em, but - hey, they’re kinda growin’ on me now!”

Two offspring are still tangled on the soaked ground - at least you think it’s two. It’s somewhat hard to tell, because neither seems to be retaining a consistent physical form. One keeps forming distinctly - the one with teeth marching down its spine - but the other (yes, you’re more sure there’s two) seems to be spending most of its time as little more than a blob. 

“Teeth guy can be ummm, Buddy Boris Railway.”

“I’m sorry, come again.”

“Buddy Boris Railway.”

“Happy, please name the last one,” the Joxter groans. 

You frown at the amorphous blob and hug Paper close to your chest. You don’t know how to name things. You shouldn't be in charge of this. You’d better continue Bendy’s theme. He’s told you a bit about the studio before, surely you can think of something… “Um,” you say, while Bendy attempts to extract Buddy Boris Railway. “Um-“ you wrack your brain. What was it called… “Administration Offices?” You try.

“No, no-“ the Joxter shook his head. “Dear Happy, how can you be worse at this?”

“I-I’m sorry-“

“Gent,” Bendy decides. “He’ll be Gent.”

“Lovely,” the Joxter says sourly. “Now Happy, can you hand over Paper? I need some stress relief, I’m afraid - this sort of situation is really quite exhausting.”

You have a flicker of absurd possessiveness (what if you don’t want him using Paper?) but it’s so foreign to you. You have no right over yourself or any of your children. You berate yourself. “Yes, papa,” and hand over Paper. 

The Joxter croons to the creature, bouncing it lightly in his arms. Paper laughs. 

“Yes, dear, nothing to fear,” the Joxter tells him. 

“Ya really aren’t waitin’ are ya?” Bendy asks, struggling with his armful of wriggling offspring. 

“Why wait? Better to find out sooner rather than later. But you can imagine I will be testing with my fingers first. Isn’t that right, little one? Would you like me to test with my fingers first?” Your papa tickles Paper’s sides; the abomination’s giggling reaches a new pitch. Then, abruptly, its face splits down the middle. The sides of his head part like a mouth, and there’s rows and rows of tiny sharp pointy teeth. It screeches in happiness. 

“I changed my mind,” the Joxter says.

Bendy laughs. 

“What about that one that looks like you?” the Joxter asks.

“Inkwell? Sure thing, Jox.”

Bendy deposits the kitty in front of the Joxter, while said Joxter works his hand under his cloak.

Inkwell, hissing, scrambles onto all fours and bares dripping fangs. 

“No, nope,” the Joxter decides. “I just really don’t want sex right now after all.” He huffs and yanks up his pants. “Bendy, these are not at all the kitties I was anticipating!”

“You can say that again!”

The Joxter glares at Inkwell. “Would you be terribly offended if I threw this one in the fire?”

Bendy considers it for a second, then, “nah. I already got the ones I like.”

“Wonderful.” The Joxter holds Inkwell as far as possible from his body as he marches it to the flames, then dumps it in. The creature writhes. Its body boils but this doesn’t seem to bother it in the slightest. Soon enough it wriggles its way out of the fire and skitters away

“Well,” the Joxter says. “I’m going to take him to the river instead. I assume those that can’t die by fire will die by water.”

“Cruel,” Bendy remarks, as the Joxter picks up Inkwell and carries him off. 

“Aw shoot-“ Bendy drops Projector abruptly and rushes to peel Gent off Buddy Boris Railway, but it’s too late - Gent’s blobbish form had somehow devoured his brother. “How do ya get kids to stop eatin’ each other?” Bendy mutters to you. 

You know nothing about that. You hyperventilate.

There are now only four kitties left: Chair, who looks like a Snufkin apart from the fact he’s made of ink and his grin stretches from ear to ear; Paper, with his pale pale flesh and black hair (his second mouth is now, blessedly closed); Projector, a Snufkin with bone horns jutting from his skull and melted empty eye sockets, plus a tail; and Gent, who is a mere blob (a bigger blob now than he had been previously, after consuming his brother).

Four kitties, however, is many more kitties than you feel equipped to truly handle. As the day unfolds, this is only confirmed to you.

Projector is tolerable given that he mostly sits there and wags his tail and giggles. 

Gent frightens you, as he sluggishly oozes around the clearing and consumes things into the mass of his body.

Paper has an odd affection for you, and loves rubbing up against you and grasping your cloak. 

Chair, meanwhile, has some strange fixation on chewing. You don’t know what his deal is, but he’s never found without his massive teeth wrapped around some object or another. In an hour, he manages to chew in half your papa’s canoe. The Joxter throws his arms up in dismay and complains loudly - how is he supposed to rest with it split in half and all the cottony goodness spilling out? Bendy replies that perhaps it’s time to replace the cotton. This you can’t argue with - the cotton is discolored and reeks horribly, as you know from having your face shoved in it repeatedly while you’re fucked. 

“Let’s get a Snufkin, then,” the Joxter decides. “One with a fluffier bedroll.” 

“Now?”

“Soon, at least! And perhaps a new canoe, when we can find one-“

As they debate the act of acquiring a new Snufkin, you become an inconvenience. 

“We can’t leave him alone with the kitties, darling,” the Joxter stresses. “One of them already nearly ate him.”

“Nearly ate is an exaggeration,” Bendy protests.

“Are you truly willing to risk it?” The Joxter asks, and you tense in fear. You don’t want to be left with the kitties. They don’t even know what they’re doing - they just eat and snarl and wrestle with each other. They’d kill you without a second thought, which is normally something you don’t mind, except… well, if you’re going to die, you want it to be by _Bendy_ , not by one of your many offspring. 

Luckily, Bendy takes one uneasy look at you and shakes his head. “Nah. So let’s just take Happy with us an’ leave the kitties.”

“You know nothing about child-rearing,” gripes the Joxter. 

“I dunno why ya keep expectin’ me to.”

“You can’t leave children unattended - at least not when they’re mumrik-eating abominations. Perhaps regular children you can leave behind. I suspect that’s how I lost my son, though, in hindsight.” The Joxter frowns. 

“Well’n let’s bring ‘em all with us!”

It’s debated, and then decided. Bendy tries to explain the concept of hunting to his offspring, while you sit to the side and stew in jealousy that Bendy’s paying attention to them and not to _you_. Does he like them more? Does he hate you now? You don’t think he does, but how can you be sure? He hasn’t raped you since you gave birth, and while you’re partly glad for that (you ache something horrible), you also feel… a bit neglected. A lot neglected. Especially with all the attention he’s giving to the kittens. 

At any rate, the seven of you depart the nest; the Joxter leading as usual, Bendy trotting at his side, and you and the kitties hanging in back. 

“Do let us know if any begin chewing on you,” your papa calls back, only making you feel worse. You know you're nothing, just trash, just a meat puppet for them to play with. You live only for their entertainment, and you don’t want to be presumptuous, it’s just… 

It’s just…

Well, you don’t know. 

But you don’t feel good right now.You look at Bendy’s back and his swishing tail and you feel a knot in your stomach that makes you want to cry.

Over the next several days of the hunt, you spend most of your time pouting while the Joxter and Bendy chat, and the kitties wrestle and crawl on you. You know you’re being surly and unappealing, but you can’t help it. You’re useless - more useless than usual, and Bendy isn’t even hurting you or raping you to make you feel like you have a point. You don’t even know why they brought you along. 

You’re stewing in these feelings when your papa finally finds a Snufkin. The Snufkin was perched by his campfire, and he freezes when you, your papa, Bendy, and the kitties tumble out of the woods. 

“Hullo,” the Joxter tells him docilely. “Would you mind overly much if we borrowed your bedroll? My own bed has been destroyed, you see, and it’s a real shame to sleep in trees and flowerbeds once one is accustomed to such luxurious bedding.”

The Snufkin has frozen. He knows, no doubt, about Joxters and their ways - yes, you can tell that easily by the mouse-like terror in his eyes. His heart is likely hammering, and his mind viciously cycling through _fight? flight? fight? flight?_ But ending only with the third option, _freeze._ He’s silly, like most Snufkins - believes that he deserves to live, or that he has any other greater purpose than being used for a Joxter’s amusement. They’ll all be happier, you're sure, if they knew to be grateful for the pain the Joxter and Bendy are about to inflict. Normally their ignorance gives you some sort of savage glee, but now you only feel sour. You’d rather the attention be on you, and this is all you can think about, selfishly and rudely. 

“Hello?” The Joxter repeats to the Snufkin, insistently. “Are you deaf as well as dumb?” 

You would have responded. You would have been good.

The Snufkin’s eyes rove to the kittens coiling up in the tree branches, one of them snickering.  

“I think this one’s a dud,” Bendy tells the Joxter. “Ain’t gonna be much sport - let’s just kill him ’n take his bedroll.”

“Don’t be hasty-“ the Joxter starts, but the Snufkin has apparently decided he’s hung around long enough. With a spry leap, he’s gone, leaving only rustling underbrush behind him.

“Oh drat-“ The Joxter begins. Bendy shoots past him with a yip of excitement, and then abruptly all the kittens are in hot pursuit, not all so elegantly as Bendy (you watch one collide headfirst into a tree), but certainly with an equal, rabid enthusiasm. 

The Joxter huffs and darts after them, “come, Happy - before they utterly ruin this Snufkin!”

Delighted to be useful, you skitter after, adeptly ducking leaves and branches with barely a sound, while the Joxter falls behind you, huffing. It’s not long before you lost your papa behind you, but you know his nose will help guide him right. At some point, you start to hear screams, and it galvanizes you more, gives you something to follow once Bendy and the kitties also disappear from sight.

At last you slither through a thicket and come upon a crowded scene - the Snufkin crammed between the roots of an immense oak, thoroughly trapped beneath swarming ink. 

It takes your brain a second to grasp what’s going on, what with ink and fists and teeth, but eventually you understand - the kittens are trying to devour the little Snufkin, and Bendy is trying to pry them off. 

“Ya do that _after_ Jox screws ‘em, not before!” Bendy’s berating them. Little teeth sneak past Bendy’s defense and nip into the Snufkin’s flesh - the Snufkin’s mouth parts in a silent cry as he seizes and thrashes. 

“It’s like they don’t even know how the scene’s supposed to go!” Bendy yells at you in dismay once he notices you. 

You puff up your chest a little. _You_ know how the scene is supposed to go. You’re good. You’re obedient.With that thought strikes the impulse to _do_ something, to help out.Paper, Gent, and Chair all scare you - but Projector has small, flat teeth, and seems calmer than the others. You leap down beside the Snufkin, and daringly scoop Projector in your arms. He seems the least dangerous, and you’re pleased when the eyeless horned monster’s wiggling ceases, and he makes a cooing noise. You don’t understand what the noise is or what it means, but you also don’t care. He could die for all you care, you’re just glad you did something right. You’re helping Bendy. You hold Projector while Bendy manages to wrestle Chair, Paper, and Gent off the Snufkin. He throws them all to the ground and stands over the Snufkin, fists clenched at his sides. 

“All right, back off, and stay off!” Bendy asserts. He looks more cute than frightening at the moment, but it seems the kitties share the wisdom that he can very much be both those things, and they hiss and cling to each other, retreating. 

“I got this one,” you tell Bendy proudly, doing your best to avoid being impaled by Projector’s horns as he giggles and kicks his legs.

Bendy’s tail lashes as he glances at you. “Ain’t half bad,” he tells you, and you feel warmth bloom in your chest. You did good! And he looked at you! And acknowledged you! You’re brimming with delight until the Snufkin slithers out from under Bendy and makes a break for it. 

“Hey!”

You drop Projector and dive for the Snufkin. 

“Lemme go,” the Snufkin howls, his clothing snared in your hands. You use your weight to drag him down, which disappointingly results in you being dragged over the roots and him stumbling about until ink snatches his legs, arms, and throat, and then he’s pinned to the trunk so fast you nearly barrel into the tree yourself.

The Snufkin now looks particularly odd, splayed out like a bug pinned in a collector’s case, except his chest is rising and falling rapidly and he’s coated in a thin sheet of sweat. 

“Let me go,” he pleads, “I’ll do anything, I’ll-“ 

The kitties are attempting to sneak around Bendy again, their teeth bared, and the demon growls in frustration as he snatches all of them. 

“I told ya guys, ya wait for-“

Just on time, the Joxter bats his way out of the bushes, looking befuddled. 

“Jox-“

“Yes, I’m here,” your papa says. “Ah! A squirmy fellow, isn’t he?”

The Snufkin, only lightly chewed, stares at the Joxter with raw terror.

“Lemme arrange him,” Bendy has four arms at this point and each one is wrangling a kitty (two are needed for Chair). But ink is draped all over the roots and trunk of the tree, some which have sprouted arms and gloved hands to hold Snufkin in place. These hands not-so-delicately rearrange the Snufkin back into the little nook between roots.

“Hup-pff,” the Joxter wriggles his way down the roots and settles into the nook with the Snufkin. “Bendy, mind holding his legs apart?”

The Snufkin tries to scream again, but another hand (you’re losing track of just how many there are) seals over his mouth. Then he just looks silly, face turning purple while he bucks pointlessly. At this rate, he’s going to rip his shoulder out of the socket. You’ve seen Snufkins do that before. You’ve done it once, too, ridiculous as you are. 

Next, two hands grip the Snufkin’s thighs and hold him spread wide open for the world to see. 

Bendy huffs while the kitties squirm and claw to get nearer. “Boy, I do all the work ‘round here. Holdin’ the kitties, ’n holdin’ the Snufkin - takin’ care of Happy-“

The Joxter pauses, his hand under his coat, and glances back. “You don’t mind, do you, darling? You never minded those other two tasks before.”

_Does_ he mind? Does he hate you? No - no, you’re quite sure he doesn’t, but what if he’s tired of you-

“I don’t know,” Bendy mutters. “Just seems like a lot lately. I don’t get t’enjoy the way that Snuf feels if I’m busy makin’ sure these kitties don’t eat him first!" 

“That is a terrible pity,” the Joxter remarks, kneading himself more as he watches the numerous white-gloved hands groping the Snufkin’s body. Some sneak under the fabric. “I somehow never realized you liked touching them so much.”

“Sure. Can feel their heartbeats,” Bendy chirped.“An’ all the lil shivers along their bodies, an’ their sweat. All those fun things that humans do to show all the predators that they’re scared as heck! … Kinda weird, in hindsight.”

“Ah, of course.” The Joxter hummed and looked down at the whimpering Snufkin with his tear-filled eyes. “Well, I’ll make it quick with this one, hm? And then you can eat him as you like.”

Bendy grumbles, but agrees. All those groping fingers keep the Snufkin nice and still while the Joxter forces himself in with a rumbling moan. The Snufkin recoils as if stabbed - you know that the two things are very different though. Bendy fucking you feels a lot more like stabbing than the Joxter does. You suppose for someone who isn’t as experienced in pain as you might have such an overdramatic response, and it makes you snort in derision. 

You’re much better at taking both Bendy and the Joxter quietly like a good boy. 

Still, not even your jealous cynicism can prevent the few giggles from bubbling up your throat at the sight of his piteous thrashing. Yes, this is familiar. This is how things should be. The more Snufkins you see this happen to, the more and more sure you are of that, and by this point, you have seen a great many Snufkins be used for the Joxter and Bendy’s pleasure. It brings you comfort and excitement to see them used and maimed, even despite your jealousy. You’re glad after the Joxter has had his fill, that Bendy will be able to eat this one. You hope it makes him very happy. 

Bendy also watches avidly. He sidles nearer to you, still clutching the kitties. His tail wraps around your thigh, very very high up. It’s cold and makes you jump. He eases it higher; it’s firm and sinuous as it kneads over your cunt. You laugh again, higher-pitched; he’s smiling and now staring at you. Finally, he’s paying attention to you! As happy a you are, you’re too scared to look at him. Instead, you focus on the naked bruised legs splayed on either side of the Joxter’s hips. 

Snufkins look so funny being used. 

Bendy sneaks closer; he’s frightening close, and it makes your breath come short. You try harder to focus on the Snufkin and his weird noises.  

The tip of Bendy’s tail nudges between your legs. You squeak, some part of you instinctively wanting to recoil. That’s what disposable Snufkins do. But this is what he wants - it’s not your place to deny him, and you know that. So you do your best to relax (though you largely fail), and his tail eases inside you. It keeps pushing in, not unlike a snake flowing up into your tight, sore hole. 

You grunt slightly, and shift. Many times you've seen him form the tip of his tail into a sharp black blade. You know it can cut, and it could so easily cut right through you. Your slick walls tighten anxiously around him at the thought - which is very impractical, you scold yourself while your thoughts and heart race. 

Bendy’s attention shifts to you more; his grip on the kitties loosens and then - then -

Then the whole pack of them are scrambling for the fucked Snufkin like sharks to blood. 

“Wait-“ Bendy yelps. 

“Dear me,” the Joxter exclaims. 

Bendy’s tail rips out of your insides and you hunch over with a scream. He’s gone in a blur of ink, leaping upon the kitties, while you attempt to breathe and assure yourself that you’re probably not bleeding too badly, and most of that wetness is probably ink.

There’s squeals and wails and snarls. 

When you hazily look up, Bendy is half-transformed, kicking off the kitties, while the Joxter clings tightly to the sobbing Snufkin. 

The demon shrinks back down to his smaller form, hands on his hips. “They’re way too much work!” Bendy snaps. 

“Are they done?” The Joxter asks. 

“They’d better be.” Bendy glares at the kitties. Gent, Paper and Chair are lurking (or in Gent’s case, undulating) a safe distance away. Projector isn’t moving. A closer look shows his neck is broken; his large, bone-horned head is bent at the wrong angle. He must have landed wrong when Bendy shoved him off. His body is small, so very Snufkin-ish, and now lifeless like a doll amongst the large roots of the tree. 

“Oh good.” The Joxter ruts his hips while he nervously keeps an eye out. “Keep them off for just five minutes more, darling? I can make it quick…”

“Sure, sure, yeah.”

Bendy is now defending your papa, which is of course important (more important than you). But now Chair is slinking closer to you, teeth bared and a hungry tongue licking at his lips.

“Bendy?” You squeak.

Gent chooses that time to lunge at the Joxter and Snufkin: Bendy battles him off while Chair lunges at you - 

And anger hits you, sharp and hot, melding with your terror. You’re _not_ going to die, not by anybody’s hands except Bendy’s! You recall how quick you are, and skirt around Chair’s senseless lunge. Your skinny arms shoot out; tour fists clench Chair’s greasy ink-slick hair. Before you even know exactly what you’re doing, you’re slamming his face into the nearest gnarled root. Ink splatters, but mixed in it is unmistakable red. As soon as you see that, your teeth grind together eagerly and a ferocious need to _hurt_ hits your chest hard. 

These kitties have ruined everything for you. They take attention away from you, and now they’re even bothering the Joxter and Bendy! You hate them; you’ve hated them since they were born, and you hate them even more now. 

Fury puts strength in your pathetic arms. You slam his face again and again, as weak bone crunches and crumples. At one point you raise his head and see many rows of razor sharp teeth trying to snag your wrists. You put all your weight behind it this time. The tree root splinters some of his teeth from their soggy inky gums. A bubbling groan emits from his throat; his body distorts like he’s trying to _change_ \- morph the way Bendy does, as if to escape. But he isn’t Bendy. Far from it. 

You snarl and 

_Crunch_

_Crunch_

c _runch._  

By the end, the thing in your arms is dripping and limp, its face crushed in and bones splintered all wrongly. It’s motionless.  

You sit back, panting.

Bendy, meanwhile, is just finishing licking up whatever’s left of the Snufkin. Gent hovers nearby, bubbling angrily, and the Joxter seems to be dozing, his eyes open only to pale slivers as he watches you.

“Well done, Happy,” he compliments. You beam. Maybe things aren’t so bad after all! You did good in the end, and got a compliment from both your papa and Bendy today! 

 

 

 

The next morning, you wake up with Bendy in your arms, and you feel more content than you have since the kitties were born. Your papa had slept in the Snufkin’s bedroll for the night, while you and Bendy slept together a few feet away. It was the first time you’d slept through the night without interruptions from the kitties. And sure, you’d had a few panic attacks during the night, but those were normal, and they were all about Bendy, so you don’t mind. You like having nightmares about him.  

A cool morning mist hangs about the woods. As you lift your head, you search for the kitties. Paper is nowhere in sight, but Gent is there, draped between two trees like a massive sheet of softly undulating ink. He unnerves you to look at, and you curl tighter around Bendy, whimpering. Bendy wiggles around, his pie-cut eyes glimmering a soulless black. Prior to the kitties being born, he was very fond of early morning cuddles - which normally entailed some form of pain on your part. The mischievous look in his eyes indicates that pain is going to come again. 

Your stomach knots with both terror and excitement. Will things finally be back to normal?

It seems that way, as he winds his fingers in yours. “G’mornin’ Happy,” he greets, and bends your fingers backwards. 

Your yelping must have woken your papa, because he rolls over in his bedroll and yawns widely, blinking around the clearing.

“Did dear Paper wander off?” The Joxter asks, as if he isn’t particularly bothered - in fact, he sounds a little grateful. 

Bendy pulls his attention briefly from you, looking at the enormous mass that is Gent. “I dunno, Jox, I’m thinkin’ Gent may’ve just eaten him. Kitty sure is growin’. 

The Joxter arranges his cloak around him, looking unsettled. “You don’t think he’ll be trying to us soon, darling, do you?”

Bendy shrugs. “I don’t know how their brains work! Boy, kitties are a mystery to me, Joxter: don’t make any sense at all.”

“I thought you might be able to relate to hell spawns that wanted to murder everything they see.”

“Nah, I can't relate to that at all! I'm way more laid-back,” Bendy declares as he nearly pops your fingers out of their sockets. 

“Fair enough,” the Joxter sighs. “Alas, I’m afraid nothing will make sense of these kitties. What a disappointment they’ve turned out to be.”

“You’re tellin’ me! I didn’t realize they’d interfere with your play, Jox. Real sorry about that.”

“It’s not truly your fault. After all, we did think they were my kitties at first. In hindsight, that was a silly thing to think.” Joxter strokes his whiskers as he contemplates you. “It’s not like I’ve made love to Happy in a very long time. Silly me.” 

“Don’t see what that’s gotta do with it,” Bendy replies, moving to your other hand and bending those fingers back.  

 

 

Gent stays in the tree all morning, oozing quietly. The Joxter largely ignores him, but you see uneasy glances occasionally flit to the abomination. You sympathize with the uneasiness. You don’t like the way he makes you feel. Bendy - Bendy is very terrifying, but it’s a good terrifying. An intimate terrifying. Gent… you don’t know him. You don’t know what he feels, or thinks, or who is he. He’s just… a mass of black gloopy ink, and as far as you can tell, all he cares about is senselessly killing for no particular reason. 

The Joxter loots the Snufkin’s pack, and talks quietly with Bendy concerning what’s worth taking or not. As they’re absorbed in this task, Gent finally begins to drip. His massive form funnels down slowly, in many little streams that all conglomerate between the trees into one large lump, which wriggles hideously. 

You sidle away. “Um.” A laugh bubbles up your throat. “P-papa? Bendy?”

Gent begins to grow. Up, up, up. Limbs take shape from his mass; loose, boneless limbs that end in puddles. Two, four, six, eight of them. A large head emerges, and it’s nothing but teeth. He lowers his head, drooling viscous black saliva while two tongues slather his lips. He sways. 

“ _Bendy_!” You squeak. 

Finally your papa and Bendy’s attentions jerk to you. But the second you speak, Gent leaps. _At you._

You scream, throw up your arms, certain this is it. 

Nothing hits you. 

There’s a guttural snarl, the sound of two inky bodies colliding.

When you dare look, Bendy’s transformed into his larger monstrous form. He’s pinning Gent to the ground, and his teeth are squelched in Gent’s body - not that that seems to be doing anything. It has to be shock more than anything that keeps the beast down, but soon enough Gent gets over that, and then his own larger, craggy teeth are snapping down on Bendy’s leg. 

You yelp, heart in your throat.

Bendy, too, reacts with a wounded shriek. But when one leg is chewed off, another forms. The same applies to Gent, as Bendy seizes upon him with tooth and claw. For a while, there’s no gain or loss on either side, just a mess of spraying ink, flashing teeth, and snarling that you can barely follow. 

Then something shifts. Bendy begins _eating_ with every snapping bite. He throws down Gent and mauls into his bared, amorphous stomach. The balances changes; Gent begins making a high-pitching wail of an animal terrified of its death, but Bendy doesn’t stop. He systematically tears apart Gent, piece by piece; some he grinds into the dirt with his paws, some he licks up and swallows, others are just scattered in droplets across the entire clearing. But one way or another, soon enough there’s nothing left of Gent but enormous piles and splashes everywhere, and ink dripping from Bendy’s jaws. None of the puddles move anymore.

Bendy finally stills, hunched on all fours and growling lowly. 

It takes some time for your heart to slow. 

The Joxter had hidden away in the sun’s tent and now his head pokes out, nose sniffing the wind. “Is it safe now?” He asks. 

Just like that, Bendy hunches down and shrinks, shrinks, shrinks, until he’s back to the jarringly adorable form that he most prefers. Ink is still dripping from his mouth, and you know it isn’t his. He wipes his mouth. “Yeah. Geez, these kitties didn’t last long. If I’ve learned anythin,’ it’s that kitty-rearing is dang stupid! I’m done with the whole thing!”

The Joxter hums. “I agree entirely. Well, shall we get the bedroll and head back home?”

“Oh, yes!”

The Joxter rolls up the bedding and straps it onto a backpack that he swings over his shoulders. 

Bendy slots his hand in yours and smiles up at you as the three of you begin your walk home. "Tell ya the truth, Happy," he says, "It's way better when it's just the three of us."

You couldn't be happier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't say I never created fan children now.


End file.
